Man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.

More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.

Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius.

The cut worm forgives the plow.

The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive.

Let the men do their duty & the women will be such wonders; the female life lives from the light of the male: see a man's female dependants, you know the man.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.